Poor Thing, Poor Thing
by asthought
Summary: What if Joanna wasn't as innocent as the story makes out? What would her view be of events? Starts a few weeks before Sweeney Todd arrives in London.
1. Chapter 1

Clouds bruised the sky, a rolling thunder growling in the distance as carriages went by, all sleek and dark. Joanna looked down at her sewing, not seeing it, dreaming of faraway places, with exotic names and shining blue skies. A beggars cry brought her back with a start and gave her pause.

She looked around her room, too small for a woman and too large for a girl, and she felt somewhere in between. Bedecked with tapestries, the dolls and the storybooks, a child's room it was and she a mere child? She was coming on 17 in the winter, now almost a woman. What did women do in their spare time? Surely more than this. She stood and stretched, an idea slowly forming.

It was a matter of moments to cross the hall and make her way into her keepers study. No one was due home for several hours; there was plenty of time and no chance of being caught.

Perhaps should could surprise him over dinner with intelligent, worldly musings rather than a child's inane speech, to be seen as a woman, something and someone to talk to in the long hours he normally spent perusing his papers, ignoring her and the world she inhabited. Sometimes he gazed at her, but Joanna knew he didn't really see her, his eyes distant, a peculiar expression on his face.

Perhaps once she was educated she could even, eventually, convince the judge that they could holiday somewhere for a time, distant from her boorish tutors? Perhaps even as far away as Bath!

Smiling she chose a book at random from the shelf, opened it up and curled up on the soft leather couch to read, feet tucked beneath her. Many of the words baffled her, but the pictures did well to tell the story, and what a story! She snapped the book shut in a kind of awe struck shock and thought for awhile.

Very very carefully she opened the book again and continued to read, lost in the words and the pictures.


	2. Chapter 2

Moralis Turpin awoke with a start, the womanly cry that had roused him so suddenly still echoing in his thoughts. _Johanna!_ He rushed to her room and burst the door, visions of street scum pawing at her. God knew he had made enough enemies over the years. But no, she lay in bed, sheets rumpled to be sure, nightdress in curious disarray, but alone.

"I heard a cry" he said, hesitating in the doorway. Was that the tiniest hint of a nipple in the moonlight? Her eyes where surprisingly bright and alert for such a late hour. A slight pause and with a quaver to her voice she answered.

"A dream," she said, pulling the covers up. "I just had a bad dream, that's all sir. I'm sorry to have awoken you."

He wanted to come in, comfort her but something about her manner was odd. Visions of young lovers secreted somewhere in the room swam through his head. It was all he could do not to prowl around the room, opening cupboards, flicking aside curtains and rummaging through trunks. No, impossible. The house was locked tight, her window closed.

"Would you like me to stay with you awhile?" As he moved towards her she stiffened slightly, fuelling his suspicions. She shook her head, her hair cascading around her like a halo in the moonlight.

"I'll be fine, sir, I just need to not think about such dark dreams. " She smiled. "I shall think happier thoughts."

He bade her goodnight, mind whirring like a clockwork toy. Closing the her door he remembered something from many years ago. There was a knot hole in the wall somewhere, along this side. As a child he had used it to secretly look out into the hall and check the coast was clear for his nightly ramblings…perhaps he could now use it to look in? It took some searching and a few false starts in the darkness of the hall to find which painting the knothole lay behind, but soon he found it and peered though. By squinting he could make out the window and the bed, light by a maze of moonlight and shadow..and what he saw astounded him.

As he watched she threw off her covers. Murmuring something to herself she slowly, ever so slowly, hitched her nightdress up past her thighs. His breath caught. So did hers as she traced a finger down and into herself, that secret place still hidden ever so tantalisingly by shadow. Her eyes where closed as she pleasured herself, back arching, silent streamlets forcing her pursed lips into an _oh_ of pleasure. He found himself gently pushing against the wall with his erection and quelled the action lest he make noise enough to rouse her, and make her stop. After what seemed an eternity she succumbed to the pleasure, the silent screams becoming softly vocal till one last womanly scream wenched itself from her, muffled in her pillow. She lay still for awhile, staring at the ceiling, then arose and washed her hands in a basin of scented water upon her dressing table.

He wrenched himself away from the knothole, breathing hard, erection straining against his clothing. God what a sight, what a show, what a surprise. His body was tense and humming with the idea of her as he snuck back to his rooms, ever so careful not to make a sound and betray his presence.


	3. Chapter 3

This story is being written in dribs and drabs, with more updates every few days. Check back soon.

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The morning breakfast was interesting, to say the least. Molaris hadn't slept a wink, he had a full days court ahead of him and he didn't care a jot. Normally he'd be silently bemoaning the Wednesday court with it's penny thieves and two bit whores, prosecutors prattling on for hours over nothing.

Today, this morning, it didn't matter. It didn't make the slightest dent in his mood. It was as if he had been blind for years and had looked up to see the sky bathed in the glory of a stormy red hued sunset. His eyes had certainly been opened last night. How long ago had his charge become a woman and he not notice it?

It had been years since he's part of the whirlwind of parties, debauchery, living the high life. Fine women had thrown themselves at him in an avalanche of lust and desire, sometimes in groups, wealthy society ladies inviting him to their latest event, to put him on show, beautiful, vicious lustful things.

But that was years ago and now here was this creature living in his own home, casually requesting that he pass her another helping of kedgeree.

"Hm?" he tried to sound disinterested and definitely not as if his gazed had been fixed on the exquisite curve of her neck and how she had looked in the moonlight. She blushed a little and he realized he was still staring. He passed her the dish, barely noticing it.

"I'm sorry, Johanna. My mind was elsewhere."

"Is everything all right, sir?" She asked, luscious lips moving with exquisite sensuality. No, he had to stop thinking this way. He closed his eyes for a moment and let out a breath, attempting to let the tension in his mind and body go. It sounded like a sigh.

"Court matters, nothing more."

She didn't believe him, which was fine. He didn't believe himself either. Johanna dabbed her silken rosebud mouth and stood, moving closer to him, close enough for him to smell that she's washed her hair recently, that the underthings she wore hadn't been washed since their purchase at the drapers because they still smelt heavily of lavender and lemon oil. She felt his forehead with her cool palm. He closed his eyes again for a moment, just a moment, and lent ever so slightly towards her, breathing in.

He took her wrist, drew her to him and kissed her deeply, picking her up and depositing her on the table, hands clawing their way into her hair, pulling back her head and biting into her neck, eliciting those wonderful screamlets. Or at least that's what he desperately wanted to do. Instead he opened his eyes, took her hand gently from his forehead, kissed it gently and let it go.

"I am fine. I must go."

He stood without another word, practically ran to the hallway, donned his overcoat and double-timed it to the courthouse, ignoring Beadle as he simpered by the clerks office.


End file.
